The Freakquency

Tuning you into not-the-mother wit, insight into your blindness, knowledge of your ignorance, and various and sundry profundities untold.
Basically, I'm just talking shit...

Friday, December 30, 2005

Hit On Me

Just because you put a ring on my fingerJust because you put some clothes on my back.Just because you gave me money for DecemberDoesn't mean that I have to pay you back.

You were my husband You were supposed to do the things you chose to do I loved you 'til the endAnd I'd rather die before I let my kids see.The way you hit on meThe way you hit on meEvery night I'd cry hopin' that they'd never seeThe way you hit on meThe way you hit on meThe way you hit on meHow come you hit on me? -- Syleena Johnson

I'm going to need everyone to keep their damn hands to themselves in 2006.

I'm going to need all feet to stay on the fuckin' ground in 2006.

I'm going to need people to stop choke slammin' and clotheslinin' each other in 2006.

Shit's gotta stop in 2006.

It literally sounded like "boompity, boompity, boom" out in the hallway.

What the fuck?

I looked out the peephole to see him dragging his woman down the stairs by her foot, and I'm like what now? What the fuck did she say to set your unstable ass off TO-DAY?

Nicest people on the earth, on the surface.

But honey...inside of their crib? It was Gatti v. Ward 1, 2 or 3 err'y night up in that camp.

Shit, I got tired of callin' P.G.'s finest on them. She would jet up out of their with their daughters, cuz if the cops got one look at her Rican profile, they were gon' see his bitch-slap print, and hubby was not going to pass Go, was not going to collect $200, but would go straight to jail.

Couple of hours later, she would come back, and I'd hear them in there, merrily clanging pans together.

I guess they was hungry after all that fighting.

Now I'm not usually one to be all up in nobody's business, but the next time he tried to strike up small talk in the parking lot, I asked him how his wife was.

Then gave him the .

FuckIlooklike.

He just gave me that "Nigga what" laugh, and said he'd holla.

The irony of that wasn't lost on me.

I'll holla.

If God is a just God, you sure will.

To bypass all of that, I'ma just need muthafuckas to "Just Say No" to the domestic violence in 2006. Don't hit, and don't be hit.

Chicks, stop playing the hit game. That shit ain't cute. As a matter of fact, who told you that shit was cute? Now that's the muthafucka you oughta hit!

Niggas, that wrasslin' game ya'll like to play with us? That shit ain't cute either. Reminds me too much of what you do right before you start hitting. Back your ass up offa me. If you'on wanna wrassle my 6'5", 320 lb. cousin Boo, then fuckyoulooklike wrasslin' me?

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: I'on wrassle. I'on hit. Cuz see, I'm not that ha-ha, hee-hee type person that is gonna take it light. And you're probably not gonna realize that until I heat up some cornmeal and throw it at you. See...then I'ma be a crazy bitch, and you knew I was crazy, and so on and so forth...

Some people don't want to believe fat meat is greasy.

Stop.hitting.each.other.

So I've got bronchitis. Suppose my lungs look a little like this:

I had a sharp pain under my left breast on Tuesday, and I 'clare for God, I thought I was up OUTTA here.

The next morning, I went straight to the doctor, only to have him tell me that I had bronchitis.

Besides the fact that this series reeks of latent paternalism, I found it quite interesting that this Brit man takes what...6 or 7 weeks out of his life to go hang out with the natives in various parts of the world.

The episode that sold me? The one where he spent over a month with the Suri people of Ethiopia.

The women are known to wear clay plates in their bottom lips, with their bottom 4 teeth knocked out so food can slide down the plate into their mouths. How practical!

The men have elongated earlobes and walk around with their manhood swinging merrily in the breeze.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

VIP

Everybody in my party is VIPWe gon’ sip champagne for freeYour night of ecstacy’s on meDefinitely believeCuz everybody in my party is VIPWe gon’ shot Patron for freeYour night of ecstacy’s on me -- Jamie Foxx

I was lovin' this buck-tooth nigga's CDs music, back when me, his momma, and he bought his first album. All 3 of us. So I'm not one of these latent dingleberries hanging out of the crack of his ass NOW cuz mainstream is finally ready for him.

I still think he's jive country, but I like that about him.

Not to mention...that nigrasario has.the.biggest.and.juiciest.fingers.

You know how I feel about big.juicy.fingers.

Please don't get me started.

You...are my lifeEverybody knowsHow I feel about youLovin' your smile and your soft caressMy love for you shines brightlyI must confess that youAre my lifeI want us to be like a dream that's come trueI want our love to grow in special ways, yeahOur hopes and our visions, yeahTo be the sameI love youJust for you... -- George Duke

I was reading Danyel's Naked Cartwheels today, and she reminded me of the hundreds of songs that I've rotated over the years in my mind that would be "played at my wedding." I think Just For You would be a hot wedding song. Guests probably would be standing around like What the fuck?, but it would be hot nonetheless.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Can't Nobody

Trying to let you know what it's all aboutI know you wanna leaveSo many little games silly people playDon't act foolishlyI'm so real, so soft to touchMy love, my kiss so sweet, gloriousThe look on your faceAnyone can seeNo one does it like me... -- Kelly Rowland

I've been known to say that to many a man.

Not one of them has retorted, Uh...I don't want her to do it like you. Stupid.

Cuz that would be arrogance-kryptonite.

I be on dat KryptoniteStraight up on dat KryptoniteI be on dat, straight up on datI be on dat Kryptonite -- Big Boi

Whatever happened to Solé? I liked her.

Married Ginuwine, and relegated herself to wifedom in P.G. County.

Curious.

Don't look so sadI know it's overBut life goes onAnd this worldKeeps on turning, yeahLet's just be gladWe have this timeTo spend togetherThere is need to watch the bridgesThat are burning... -- Al Green

I really need for people to get better at goodbye.

Stop picking the scab off of the cut and just let it heal and fade away. IT will fade away, but you gotta stop picking with it.

That means stop calling me and reminiscing on something that's not going to be.

You're with someone else, right? So...us talking about the good times. That shit ain't working for me.

It's too fresh right now. Just quit trying to figure out if I still care about you.

Yeah, I do. For whatever it's worth. But that wasn't enough to make us right.

Little tiny self. I'm not much on tiny men, but he's so cute. Every time he walks by, I want to beckon him to sit on my lap.

He called me "precious" this morning. Now if that wasn't just the cutest damn thing. I jive giggled.

My grown ass, blushing. I'm flattered.

Not intrigued though.

It's endearing.

I want you to know me better than I know me Cuz baby I can see the futureYou know we should be togetherI'm not gonna play with you, so dont you play with meLet's put this thing together babyI'll leave these other girls alone... -- Bobby Valentino

If I had a year to spare though, I might have given him some play

I'm really into thoughtful people right now.

I'on care about things that I usually care about. I want somebody that's just gonna be into me. Like majoring in Nina. A student of my every move.

When I used to be a clubhead, I never took numbers. Just gave mine out. With one directive.

Me: You can have my number, under one condition.Him: What's that?Me: Call tomorrow, or don't call at all.Him: *bewildered look*Me: *coy look*

Shit worked like clockwork. And I'm not just saying that because it's my gimmick. Shit REALLY worked.

I think they called out of curiousity. Or maybe it was the apprehension to finding out what would happen if they tried to call me a week later.

My intent was simple: I didn't want to have to remember a whole bunch of niggas names. Call me tomorrow, and let's get this weeding-out process cracking! If they didn't call, that was cool...his name went into the trashcan of my memory.

I met this one dude named Ryan at the club. He was little as fuck. (I did tell you that little men love me, right?)

But this Lilliputian was sexy as fuck. Sexy as he wanted to be, ya heard?

Could dance. Dressed nice. Smelled nice.

I'll never forget we were slow-draggin' to Prince's "Adore", and this fool kissed me dead in my mouth. Naw...he ain't put his tongue in my mouth.

But it wasn't for lack of trying.

I was gon' seriously consider fuckin' with him until I did something wack as hell.

I called him on his job, and I thought he was avoiding taking my call, so I left this hella "fatal" message on his answering machine. Yeah, yeah, I can admit the shit now...I wasn't really tryna sound psycho.

But that shit was jive psycho.

Naw, I'on remember what I exactly said, but it was some rambling, confusing tomfoolery and I got exactly what I deserved as a result of it.

I got some major silence.

Mu'fucka ain't never, ever, never call again.

Fuck that lazy-eyed muthafucka. And he had a sick child. Like chronically sick child.

I'on usually fuck with men with children. Why? Cuz I'on have any children, and um...I'm not dealing with yourn if I don't have any.

But in the RARE case that I do find an exceptional father, who is stepping up and handling his business where his child is concerned, and that shit isn't negatively interfering with what we got going on...then yeah. But that little muthafucka better damnsight be healthy.

I know...that's selfish, Nina!

But shit...somebody will love you with your little TB-ridden, asthmatic, club foot baby. Just not gon' be me.

About Me

Box? What box? To think outside of the box, I'd have to acknowledge that there IS a box, right? Well. I'm random as hell, what can I say. Get used to it. I love kettle corn, God, Hennessey, silence, men, words, and peppermint patties...not necessarily in that order.

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Blind BabyNew Birth

If only to hear Londee belt out Forever, this CD is a must-have in any music collection that is geared towards the most poignant vocalization of the 70's R&B scene. If not for Leslie's cum-compelling rendition of Dream Merchant, she would have but stolen the entire show.

This Is The Type Of Shit I Would Say

I'm Da Baddest Bitch
Can't nothin' change that
Every nigga that I fucked
They done came back... -- Trina